Last night in the tent I turned on my headlamp and picked over Bella’s body. Pitbulls have very little hair, making it relatively easy to locate ticks. It also leaves them vulnerable to abrasions and allergens. Every summer her belly explodes with hives and we embark on a routine of medicated shampoos and antihistamines. Right now she has a lot of little crunchy black spots on her. It’s hard to tell which are hardened mud, which are dried blood, which are ticks. I pull on all of them. If I cause bleeding, a new scab will form. I’ll pull it off again in the morning just in case it’s a tick.
Her belly is warm as I run my fingers over it. It won’t always be warm. A friend who recently lost his dog described sitting with him while his warmth slowly faded. I thought of the day ten years ago when we found Sam’s sister Naomi under a car in our back alley. She’d gotten out of the house two days earlier. The car hadn’t moved all weekend and there was no visible injury. Had she gotten into poison? Suffered blunt trauma before dragging herself back home? We’d never know. She was stiff and cold as we stroked her belly, her ears, the yin yang pattern under her chin. Flies landed repeatedly on her eyes and I shooed them away, cursing them. Get the FUCK off her eyes you fucking scavengers. Her beautiful one year old eyes, now shriveling and rotting in their sockets.
The three of us snuggled close in our two-person tent, sharing body heat. I reached for my phone and took a photo. I will weep over this photo one day. We were lucky to have enjoyed Louis CK’s show before his weird gross behavior hit the news. From the pilot episode: It’s true, everything that makes you happy is going to end at some point, and nothing good ends well. It’s like if you buy a puppy and bring it home to your family and you say, “Hey look, everyone, we’re all gonna cry soon. Look what I brought home. I brought home us crying in a few years. Here we go! Countdown to sorrow with a puppy.”
Countdown to sorrow. I love her so much.
Tomorrow looks like a lot of rain. We knew this was a possibility and packed a large tarp and spare blanket to keep her warm and dry in her little chariot. It’s moot since she won’t ride in there. We don’t want a hypothermic dog so we’re going to end our trip at Hancock. This is where a lot of cyclists stay when they ride the canal in three 60-mile days. We can camp or even hole up in a hotel. I have some people on call to bail us out but we’re far from DC. Vague plan is for Bill to venture alone to the nearest car rental then come back for us.
Everything that makes you happy has to end. Someone has to suck it up and be the first out of the warm cozy tent.
It’s 20 miles to Hancock and we don’t mind rolling into town close to dark, so we eat a leisurely breakfast. Well, two of us eat. Bella moves from the tent to the trailer and goes back to sleep. When I go the outhouse, she reluctantly follows.
I really like this one. Looks like a Vermeer. Girl With a Plaid Jacket
10:32 am, and we’re off like a herd of turtles. When I “open for a quote” I read “Life is a succession of misunderstandings, leading us on to the final truth, the only truth.” (-Roberto Bolano)
A year or so ago my mother, who’s neither obsessed with death nor a Buddhist, told me about an app called We Croak. It’s inspired by a Bhutanese folk saying that to be a happy person, one must contemplate death five times daily. “We believe that a regular practice of contemplating mortality helps us accept what we must, let go of things that don’t matter and honor the things that do.” At random times throughout the day a notification appears on my phone. I often swipe it right off Bella’s face without much contemplation, particularly if it’s about specifics of the dying body. I’m all about science, but I could barely handle Naomi’s decomposition. I’m more likely to pause at the inspirational or meditative quotes.
Running shares a lot with mindfulness practice, especially when it lasts for hours. The solitude, connection to breath, opportunity to observe physical and emotional sensations while not actually doing anything. Sure, running is doing and there’s plenty to obsess about concerning form, pace, mileage, nutrition, chafing… but at some point your relationship to this stuff will overlay your relationship to everything else in your life. Especially if you’ve eaten an edible before hitting the trail. You name the feeling, you let it pass, you continue moving forward. If you find yourself wandering too deeply into a mind-trap, the rhythms of your breath and feet are right there to pull you back.
I’ve been feeling pretty defensive lately about how people respond to ultramarathoners. Usually some variant of “that’s insane” with a subtext of “clearly are you running from something.”
To which I say, is that a bad thing? I mean, don’t we all use the beach, our shrinks, church, AA, yoga, knitting, opera, literature, sailing, nature, a warm bath, to cultivate a calmer wiser more accepting mind? People who spend hours and years doing other athletic pursuits don’t get the same reaction. You were on tennis scholarship in college? How cool, can I get some tips? My buddy grew up skiing, it’s a beautiful thing to watch. They play golf every weekend? That’s awesome, I’m jealous. How old were you when you started bassoon? It must be wonderful to do something you love. I know that takes many years of hard work and sacrifice.
You’re running how far? UGH. No thank you, I’d rather have a root canal. And, p.s., you’re nuts.
Guess what, though, p.s., you can’t outrun your thoughts. If you’re out there on the trail, they’re right there with you. It’s interesting to observe where they go. I watch the dog, I think about running, travel, music, Bill, Fleabag. I consider that if we all constantly shared our innermost thoughts life would be unbearable. Yet her inner thoughts were extremely engaging and true, worthy of Emmys. I’m listening to a podcast of Bill Maher interviewing Howard Stern. Two brilliant abrasive assholes talking about aging and relationships and therapy and acceptance. We’re all the same.
Last night I was doing some washing at the river’s edge. I scanned the rocks for a stable surface on which to place the open soap bottle. My mind raced through several conversations over the past couple days about rocks we were seeing, similar rocks we’d seen on other trips, different rocks we’d seen on other trips. Issues of physical balance — technical trail running, cross training, yoga, barre3, getting out of a couch or pulling on a pair of pants. Concerns about aging and osteoporosis. A highlight reel of every spill that has resulted from poor bottle placement over my 54 years. Oh yes, I analyzed the shit out of that situation during my 2 seconds of scanning. I selected a flat dry rock away from the river’s edge and placed my bright bag next to it for visual reference. Then I carelessly flung the lid into the dark uneven rocky surface. This, I decided, is the allegory for everything. For every time you fixate on one thing while missing something else completely. For every time I am incredulous that Bill doesn’t see something the way I do. We’re both pretty smart; we’re just looking at different things. “Life is a succession of misunderstandings, leading us on to the final truth, the only truth.”
Bella starts out very slowly, so between this and a defined end point it’s easier to get into a meditative zone and be present. Nothing to figure out, no variables, no negotiating for more miles. Just a nice walk right here and now with my dog. If I go faster it will be over sooner. I don’t want it to end.
I made a couple videos so that I could spend future present moments reliving past present moments.
Bill got some reunion footage today. The pics are from when she could still sprint and reached Bill first, but the video was later in the day when even I could keep up with her top speed.
Green, orange and red tunnel.
Crossed paths with some folks here while I was lying on the path trying to balance the phone on a rock for a self-timer shot. This is a much better angle.
“What is it about you two that you feel the need stand at edges and look over sheer drops?” — Bill
Even I got nervous watching this.
Safely back on her leash so nobody has to freak out about her going off a concrete wall.
Updated weather forecast said we had until around 10 am before the rain started, so we decided to camp a few miles short of Hancock and finish the distance in the morning.
Progress: she’s no longer too afraid to run next to it. Initially she cowered as if it was the terrifying Vacuum Monster. She’s definitely not afraid of bikes because they bring good things such as Bill and Sue.
We got up early for our final morning to have the best chance to beat the rain. This pic was taken at 7:15 am and then I saw that alligator again!
We got to Hancock while it was still drizzling, and there was a bike shop right off the canal advertising shuttle service. The driver was at Harper’s Ferry dropping off someone else, so they let us hang out in their bunkhouse for a couple hours and wait. Obviously this was not enough time for me to finish the blog because here I am writing over two weeks later. I say that since it’s still my birthweek it still counts for my fundraiser. Things have been busy here. In the time since we got back we’ve taken on 6 new foster cats through the rescue (for a total of 8, plus our three), I’ve scrambled my to get my act together for Tchaikovsky 4 (big solos for me, first performance is tonight) and I’ve traveled to Philadelphia to see my bassoon teacher 48 hours before she died. I don’t know if she knew I was there but it seemed important to go. I heard the death rattle, no swiping reality off the phone this time. One final lesson for an indebted student.
The end of our adventure. She slept about 36 hours straight when we got home.